World Conference Clean-Up
by DappledTail
Summary: Farley D. Gibson took a job as the Head Janitor at the World Conference building, but he was not prepared for his life to take a change for the weird! Join Farley as he struggles through the nations' shenanigans! [NO SHIPS]
1. Chapter 1 - The Start of a Nightmare

**World Conference Clean-Up**

 **Chapter One** \- The Start of a Nightmare

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Farley Dwain Gibson would describe himself as a rather intelligent type of individual. He was a jack-of-all-trades kind of guy; he could fix a faulty car engine, gut a fish in less than 10 minutes, play the drums, and deal a hard game of poker—all that good stuff that helped him get around with odd jobs here and there. So if he was so intelligent, why could he not for the life of himself figure out what on Earth he had gotten himself into?!

I mean, Farley was used to cleaning up messes that little kids made, having been a part-time babysitter at 16. He had learnt to watch kids like a hawk and occupy them with enough entertainment so they wouldn't create a mess. He had babysat so much it had become second nature to him, as he had more training with his little sister, who at the time, was a petite little thing at 5 years old.

But this—this was just out of his comfort zone. No, this was about twenty galaxies away from his comfort zone. Nothing in the whole world could have prepared him for something like this.

Farley stood at the entrance of an enormous room populated with men, women, heck, even children, who were doing everything but work, which is what they were _supposed_ to be doing. Papers were scattered everywhere, various beverages spilled, even the massive round table everyone was supposed to be sitting at had somehow been split right down the middle.

He could not believe this. Grown men and women were fighting amongst themselves being unruly and unprofessional. Why, why, WHY on Earth did he take this job? Farley was NOT used to cleaning after adults who created this level of chaos. Being forced to clean up after grown adults (and some children in the mix) at 48 years old was not on his bucket list. But oh no. That wasn't even scratching the surface of his never ending nightmare. But to get the full scope of the matter, it'd be better to start at the beginning.

It was approximately three months ago since Warren Nash, the president of the World Conference building in New York City had hired him as the Head Janitor.

Farley had not expected to be hired so quickly. In fact, he wasn't even applying for a job there. Initially, he had been called in to fix the air conditioning, and Mr. Nash, seemingly impressed at the short amount of time that it had taken him to fix the issue, deemed him worthy of being a worker there, and hired him right on the spot. And seeing as the pay was considerably higher than of his own salary as a repairman, he grabbed the opportunity to live a more comfortable life.

After filling out the proper paperwork, he was propelled straight into his first week of work. He was given a tour of the whole building, got introduced to all the other workers like Haley Gardiner, the lovely 23 year old receptionist, Carl Samuels, the head chef, and Mr. Nash's wife Judith. They were a delightful group of co-workers, and Farley was happy. But that was before he met _them._

When he first saw the group of representatives, Farley thought it was rather odd that governments of countries from all around the world would send such a youthful group of ambassadors, but he assumed that the governments knew what they were doing. He wondered if they were doing an experiment on national relations with young adults. But that was only his speculation.

The representatives were all polite and courteous when they were introduced to him, waving politely at him from their respective seats at the round table they sat at. It was all fine and dandy in the beginning. Except for that little nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something was just _not_ right.

It would start off with little things, just small insignificant things that he'd brush off as things that were just coincidence. But slowly, it began to become a reoccurring pattern. One that Farley could no longer pass off as a coincidence.

Every single time there was a World Conference meeting, there would always be these 'incidents', as he put it. In this one corner of the table, there'd always, always be traces of pasta there after a meeting had taken place. Be it marinara sauce or tomato sauce, it'd be there for sure after a meeting. Farley thought that it might have been the ditzy Italian representative (the Northern Italian one, why there were two representatives, he had no idea), but he reprimanded himself for even thinking that, as he felt that he was being too stereotypical. It could have been anyone, after all. It wasn't only Italians who ate pasta, after all.

And then there were those odd occurrences that happened every now and then. Some representatives liked to come early in the morning, when he was preparing the room for the meeting, like the serious German representative, Ludwig or the British representative Arthur Kirkland.

Ludwig, as he called him (mainly because he couldn't make out his last name on his nametag; blasted eyesight!) was what you'd call a typical German. Blond with blue eyes, he was very muscular, as well as intimidating at first. As a work oriented man himself, Farley looked up to Ludwig, for he was a hard working man.

Mr. Kirkland seemed to be a rather mild mannered British gentleman, as he called himself. His messy blond hair and wise emerald eyes seemed to say otherwise though, but Farley brushed it off. However, Farley could not help but notice his enormous eyebrows, which he initially thought were fuzzy caterpillars. And like seemingly all the other representatives, who all carried some type of stereotype, Mr. Kirkland was never without his morning cup of tea.

To be honest, he rather liked those two men. They were both very well mannered men; very professional, it seemed. Ludwig didn't really like to engage in conversation much, as he always seemed to be busy with work in some way or another, but Mr. Kirkland was always up for a conversation that involved the paranormal, Shakespeare, or essentially anything to do with British history.

While Farley set up the projector (and room in general), he could not help but overhear some very odd conversations and see some very odd sights as the many representatives trickled into the room. He once saw Vash Zwingli, the representative of Switzerland, take out an MK-47 when the French representative not-so-subtly flirted with the representative from Liechtenstein, Lilli Vogel, who was apparently also his adoptive little sister. He's seen a representative (whose name he could never seem to remember) carry around what looked like a live polar bear, and another girl carry around a swordfish.

There was also this one incident in which he was called in to fix the sink in the bathroom. It turned out that the Russian representative, Ivan Braginsky, somehow broke a sink with his bare hands and pulled out the water pipe to replace his usual water pipe which he claimed to have forgotten to bring that day. Farley had never even seen him holding his water pipe. Ever. Yet Mr. Braginsky claimed that he usually brought one in every day. How was this even possible? Wasn't there a ban on weapons here?

Heck, he's even heard the strangest conversations the world may never know, but the one that takes the cake went something like this:

Denmark Rep: "…Alright, so that's the plan!"

Brother of Ludwig: "Aww yeah! Now that little aristocrat will have no choice but to bow down in the face of my awesomeness! He'll never see that bucket of maple syrup I got from Birdie coming!"

Spain Rep: "But what if he sends Elizabeta after us like last time? Ay, my head still hurts from her frying pan when I think about it…"

Denmark Rep: "It'll be fine! Besides, if she does come after us, then we'll just pin it on Gilbert like last time!

Brother of Ludwig: "Hey! You're the one who came up with this idea in the first place!"

And as planned, when the Austrian representative opened the door into the room, he was promptly doused in maple syrup, forcing him to skip most of the meeting in an attempt to wash the syrup out of his (once) crisp suit.

As the months passed, the incidents began to get more frequent as well as more violent. Fights broke out during every single meeting. It was small fights at first, but then got bigger and bigger. Even Mr. Kirkland lost his credibility as a gentleman after he gave into his anger and assaulted Mr. Francis Bonnefoy (French representative), multiple times during a course of two weeks.

But this one, the one he faced right now, was beyond his scope of imagination. The whole room was a complete mess. Representatives stood around awkwardly, seeing as they couldn't sit down because the most of the chairs had been destroyed from being tossed around so much. Shame hung over them like a cloud. "What in tarnation is going on here?" Farley asked as calmly as possible.

Mr. Kirkland was the first to speak. Clearing his throat he began, "Well, you see, ah…Am-Alfred here," he shot a glare at him, "Got into a fight with Braginsky and, uh, things got a little _out of hand_ …"

Currently Alfred F. Jones, the American representative, was being held down by the German and Turkish reps as was Mr. Braginsky, by the Swedish and Danish reps. Mr. Jones was struggling to squirm out of their grip, unlike Mr. Braginsky, who merely stood there watching him struggle.

Farley gaped at the sight that lay in front of him for a few more seconds, then spun on his heel and retreated out the door. He went straight to Mr. Nash's office and knocked politely on the mahogany door.

"Who is it?" a voice inquired.

"It's Farley, sir. I have something to report to you."

"Hmm…you'd best come in, then."

Opening the door, he was greeted with a rather elegant room. Velvet drapes covered the window halfway, making the room dimly lit. A laptop was situated on top of a desk that was covered with stacks of paper. Mr. Nash sat behind the desk, peering over his spectacles at him. "Well, you don't have to stand to talk to me, Have a seat," he insisted, gesturing to a plush armchair that sat in front of the desk.

As he settled into the comfortable chair, his boss spoke once more. "What do you want to report to me, Farley?"

"Sir, the representatives have completely ravaged the conference room. They were fighting."

A pause. Shuffling his papers, Mr. Nash shook his head, "I see…I was wondering when they'd lose control. The temper bottle was bound to pop one of these days."

Confusion flooded his brain. Did…did Mr. Nash know all along and not tell him? What was with all these people here? What in the world was going on? "Could you please tell me what is going on, sir?" Farley asked hopefully.

Mr. Nash sighed. "My apologies, Farley. I can't. The government restricts people who don't have the proper authorization from telling others the full story."

"But, sir—"

"Don't worry Farley. You'll come to understand everything eventually," interrupted Mr. Nash. "All in due time. Now off you go."

And that was it. 48 year old Farley D. Gibson was forced to leave the office more confused than was before he had gone in. Mental assault was not something he enjoyed. _This_ was not something he enjoyed. Somehow international governments were involved in this, and now _he_ was being pulled into this mess. He was not being paid enough to deal with this. Why did the world hate him so much?

Suddenly he heard a voice coming out from the door behind him. "Oh, and you'd best get to work cleaning up that room! That room won't clean itself!"

* * *

Author's Notes

This is my first story, so if there are any mistakes, please tell me!

For any suggestions or comments you may have, please leave a review!


	2. Chapter 2 - Truck Drive to Revenge

**World Conference Clean-Up**

 **Chapter Two** \- Truck Drive to Revenge

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Farley D. Gibson leaned back at his kitchen table and opened up his newspaper. His eggs and bacon cooled off in front of him alongside his coffee. Birds could be heard chirping through the open window as he began to dig into his well earned breakfast.

He had to work well over 11 'o clock cleaning up the conference room. The room was completely trashed. Somehow, two men managed to destroy the room in a matter of fifteen minutes before they were restrained. It was no easy task for one 48 year old man to clean up such a mess. Spills had to be mopped up, broken chairs discarded and new furniture ordered. Needless to say, he was not amused.

But what bothered him most was the fact that he had to return to work in a few hours. He did not want to deal with any more of this nonsense. Nothing seemed to be adding up. These people were obviously unqualified for any kind of work, seeing as they never got anything done. To him, it just seemed as if he was dealing with a bunch of children who had been given jobs for adults. It was simply ridiculous.

Nonetheless, after his breakfast he was forced to get into his truck and begin his 30 minute drive to the World Conference building. Halfway there, he encountered a rather long traffic jam. Impatiently tapping the steering wheel, he waited for the traffic to resume again. He looked over at the other cars around him and was absolutely horrified at what he saw.

No. He absolutely refused to deal with this before he got to work. He prayed that he was hallucinating right now, but it was all in vain. The sight made him want to take the closest exit out of this wretched highway and out of the state. You know, if he could at least. Right now he was completely surrounded by slow moving cars on all sides.

The car to his right was a van filled with many of the Asian representatives. The Chinese representative, Yao Wang, seemed to be shrieking at the top of his lungs in Chinese about something that Farley could not see. Then there was a large bout of shuffling movement which shook the vehicle, so violent that Farley thought that it might've turned the van onto its side. Then he heard Mr. Wang's voice cry, "DON'T YOU DARE LIGHT THAT FIREWORK IN HERE LI XIAO CHUN*!"

And then he saw it through the slightly tinted windows of the van. A brown haired man with thick eyebrows held an unnervingly large amount of fireworks in his right hand and a lighter in his left. Without a moment's hesitation, he lit the end of the firecrackers before anybody could snatch the lighter away from him.

Farley immediately fled the scene with other drivers as it unfolded and huddled on the opposite side of the highway. They anxiously waited for the inevitable. It seemed as if the few seconds it took for the firecrackers to be set off took years. When they finally ignited with a deafening _bang_ , he flinched as he witnessed the van that contained the representatives implode. Instantly, his vision was clouded over with smoke and debris. Screams from innocent civilians echoed from all around him. The crackling of the fireworks continued for two or three more minutes before everything became silent.

When the smoke cleared, Farley was met with a horrifying sight. Many of the vehicles near the mangled van sported shattered windows, dented doors. Car alarms sounded throughout the vicinity. Amazingly, only three rings of cars surrounding the van were damaged. All others seemed to have little to no damage at all, just little scrapes here and there.

But his van, his precious truck which he inherited from his father—was not so lucky. It looked as if it had been through a nuclear blast. Since it was directly next to the van, it suffered some of the worst damage. The windshield, windows, and mirrors were completely shattered. Paint was peeled off in strips. Smoke was steadily rising out of the engine. Farley barely managed to fight off the tears that welled up in his eyes at the sight of his dear truck.

In spite of the damage done to his car, he raced over to the mangled van and pried open the door with the help of other civilians. Incredibly, the representatives were found huddling in a corner of the van, mostly unscathed. The most damage they suffered were a few cuts and bruises (as well as burnt clothes + hair). An awkward silence followed as his eyes met theirs.

"Uh-oh…it's the guy from yesterday," gulped a young man with a curl (that had a face?)*. "I think we blew up his car…"

"My apologies, Mr. Gibson-san, we did not purposely intend to damage your truck," spoke a man with dull brown eyes. It was Kiku Honda, the Japanese representative.

Farley could not believe this. They lit up fireworks in the middle of a crowded highway, destroyed his truck, and almost killed innocent civilians (as well as themselves), and think that a simple apology was going to make everything all fine and dandy? What was wrong with these people?! He didn't know how laws worked in their countries, but that wasn't how things work here.

* * *

A half hour later, Farley found himself in a brightly lit room with a police investigator. "…And then you helped them out of the wreckage?" asked the investigator, furiously scribbling down notes.

"Yes, and not a moment too soon my truck went up in flames," Farley recounted. "It destroyed whatever was left of their van."

The investigator nodded and finished his writing his notes. Looking over them he surmised, "Very, well Mr. Gibson, that'll be all for today. You may leave now. We may call you back again for further questioning, though."

"Alright, it was a pleasure to be here, officer," Farley said as he got up and firmly shook the hand that was offered to him. As he reached to open the door, it swung open, revealing two very official looking men that seemed as if they had come straight out of a James Bond movie. Wearing crisp black suits and dark shades, they brushed past him and confronted the surprised investigator.

"Officer, we are agents from the US Secret Service. We are here to inform you that the Secret Service has taken up on this case. You no longer need to investigate this case any further."

"But I—"

"Sir, it is in your best interest to withdraw from this case. Any further investigations could potentially become dangerous. This involves much more than you could possibly imagine. For your own sake, we plead for you to stay out of it before we resort to using any force."

The officer went silent. Then he nodded, "…Very well. I will leave this case in your hands."

Without another word, the two agents swiftly left the room, leaving the two men alone once more. "…What was all that about?" asked Farley. He wondered if the representatives had committed such a ghastly crime that it affected their own governments. They did blow up several vehicles on a busy highway, after all. Maybe Interpol was after them now.

The investigator shrugged.

"I have no idea. You'd best be off though, if you still want to go to work."

Farley obliged and left uninterrupted. Since he no longer had a truck, he was forced to take the train to work, all the while thinking about his truck. He was definitely not going to let this pass.

When he reached the reception desk at the lobby of the WCB, he was greeted by Haley Gardiner, the receptionist. Giving him a warm smile, she started, "Good afternoon, Mr. Gibson. Mr. Nash wants you to report to Room 415 as soon as you can."

Oh, great. What was it now? First his truck was destroyed and now Mr. Nash wants to speak with him about something, probably involving representatives somehow. The last thing Farley needed was to get involved in anything else. Right now, he just wanted to go home and get away from these people. But he didn't have much of a choice. He dragged himself to Room 415 and opened the door.

Inside, two representatives and Mr. Nash were seated at a table. Alfred F. Jones had his feet propped up on the table, lazily tapping a ballpoint pen to the tune of 'Yankee Doodle'. Seated across from him was Ivan Braginsky, who sat quietly with an ominous smile plastered on his face.

Mr. Nash's grey eyes lit up when he saw Farley come in. "Ah! There you are, Gibson! Come and sit with us. We have much to discuss."

After he had seated himself, Mr. Nash began to speak. "Now Farley, regarding yesterday's incident; I gave it some thought after thinking it through. And you know what? I do believe that these past two days have been hard on you, including what happened this morning, but we'll talk about that later. As of now, I have decided to give you the decision of these boys' punishment," he said as he gestured to the representatives beside him.

"WHAT?" cried Mr. Jones loudly. "You can't do that! It was all Ruski's fault, I swear! He's the one who started it!"

Mr. Braginsky's eyebrows narrowed and his smile grew tight. "Nyet, silly American. It was you who started it. You said that my scarf was old and disgusting, so I decided to let your face meet my pipe."

"Gentlemen, please…"

Farley ignored the two as they began bickering. Right now he was feeling euphoria like never before. I mean, the mess they made took well over six hours to clean! The sheer amount of destruction was unreal. And he also sure as hell minded the others destroying his truck. That truck had been by his side for over thirty straight years. Passed down to him by his late father, he had promised to take good care of it. It was finally time for his revenge. Now these _children_ were going to feel his wrath. He smiled gleefully as Mr. Jones began shrieking in terror. "I think that their punishment should be…"

* * *

Laughter echoed throughout the conference room. Men and women alike pointed and jeered. Cameras snapped away furiously, trying to document every second of this ludicrous scene.

It had taken nearly two hours to coerce the two men into accepting their fate. Alfred gave in shortly after he was threatened with having to eat Arthur's scones. Ivan, however, put up a bigger struggle. He ran about the room, smashing everything in sight with his trusty pipe in an attempt spite Farley. He was eventually stopped after he was threatened with being locked in a room with his sister for a week. Now the two once prideful men sat side by side in the conference room.

Holding hands.

"Wow Mr. Braginsky, I had no idea Mr. Jones and you were so close," said an oblivious Raivis Galante. He was instantly dragged out of the room by a frantic Toris Laurinaitis and Eduard von Bock.

Elizabeta tried to stem her nosebleed with one hand while snapping as many pictures as she could with the other. Kiku feverishly drew as many pages of doujinshi as possible with his left hand while taking pictures with his right, pausing every now and then to replace his film roll.

"Oh, it seems as if they are finally getting along~," chuckled Francis as he savored the moment.

"It's what they get for disrupting the meeting," huffed Arthur. _The boy could use a lesson in manners after all…_

Alfred hid his face with his free hand, blushing furiously with shame and embarrassment. He wanted the earth to swallow him up right then and there. Ivan merely smiled widely, emitting an aura of death as he plotted a way to destroy everything Farley loved and held dear to his heart. Perhaps he should curse him like he did with Kiku…

Elsewhere in the building, Farley whistled merrily as he mopped the floor.

 _Revenge is sweet._

* * *

Author's Notes

For those that don't know:

Li Xiao Chun is Hong Kong

South Korea is the one who has a curl that has a face.

Raivis Galante is Latvia

Toris Laurinaitis is Lithuania

Eduard von Bock is Estonia

For any suggestions or comments you may have, please leave a review!


	3. Chapter 3 - The Italian Brothers

**World Conference Clean-Up**

 **Chapter Three** \- The Italian Brothers

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Farley D. Gibson didn't know what he was thinking, accepting an invitation to lunch with them. When the meeting had ended early, he was approached by Feliciano Vargas, who insisted that he eat with him, as 'Eating by yourself is awfully lonely!'.

Now he sat at an obscure Italian restaurant with Mr. Vargas, as well as with Mr. Honda, and Ludwig (who were dragged along) eating pasta while Mr. Vargas babbled away about anything and everything.

"—oh and then I saw a cute kitty cat that I chased all over the place but I couldn't catch it because there was a fence in the way so I had to climb the fence but then I realized that I couldn't find the kitty so I ran around everywhere looking for it and saw it in someone's lawn but I couldn't pet the kitty because I was actually in Swissy's yard and he shot at me for trespassing so I had to go back home without petting the cat."

"…I see?" Farley confusedly responded. He literally had no idea what Feliciano had said, since he had spoken way too fast for him (and all in one breath). Feliciano was truly a unique type of person.

Ludwig sighed. "I am very sorry for this, Mr. Gibson. He's always been like this," he apologized.

It was definitely an awkward lunch break. Feliciano did pretty much all of the talking, Ludwig continuously scolded Feliciano for being so loud, and Kiku just listened in silence as they ate.

Actually, speaking of Kiku, Farley's relationship with him was kind of awkward, seeing as he was involved with the destruction of his beloved truck. But he did end up replacing his truck with a new one, so there was that.

Kiku was the complete opposite of Feliciano. Quiet and reserved, he mostly just stood around as a bystander while occasionally putting in his two cents. Farley also learned that he was not one for hugs, as he saw Feliciano get roughly shoved off when he engulfed Kiku in a surprise bear hug. But besides his reserved nature, Kiku was a rather enjoyable person to be around.

"Hey, hey, Germany! What do you think about cats?" excitedly asked Feliciano, waving his hands about in front of Ludwig.

Ludwig and Kiku looked up from their pasta to stare at him, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"…Feliciano." Ludwig replied sternly after a pause.

Feliciano stared back confusedly. After a few seconds, he exclaimed, "Oh! Oh no Ger—Ludwig, I did it again! I ruined it!"

"…Pardon?" questioned Farley. He didn't really have a good grasp on the current situation, as he was trying his best to just go along with everything that Feliciano spewed out on impulse. But he was curious as to why the trio were making such a fuss. He turned to Ludwig, "Is 'Germany' supposed to be your nickname or something?"

Surprisingly, Kiku answered instead. "That is correct Mr. Gibson-san. All of us have nicknames that refer to our country of origin. It makes it easier for us, since we don't have to remember everyone's names."

Ludwig breathed a sigh of relief. _Danke, Japan for that fast save! Italy, you'd better prepare for extra training tomorrow morning for this!_ "Y-yeah. My nickname is Germany. Kiku is Japan, and Feliciano is North Italy since there are two representatives of Italy. His brother is South Italy, but everyone just calls him Romano."

"Oh, so that's how it is," Farley replied to the relief of the three. But inside, he was still rather confused as to why the three would become so flustered about something that was so harmless. Maybe they were ashamed of being called the name of a country. That seemed plausible. Farley would be embarrassed if someone called him 'Germany' in public. It would attract some very strange stares indeed. But even so, there was a nagging feeling in the back of his brain that told him that something just didn't feel quite right.

Pushing his odd feelings away, he allowed himself to be dragged away by Feliciano to go to an art museum that Feliciano claimed to have 'shizzy' art.

They were guided through the art gallery by Feliciano, who surprisingly knew a lot about art. Farley was so impressed by the sheer amount of information Feliciano unloaded upon them that he was convinced that he must be an art expert.

"Oh, look! That's the _Vocazione di San Matteo by_ Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio! He was a famous painter back in the day! He also painted _Nativity with St. Francis and St. Lawrenc_ e, but it got stolen and we haven't seen it since…"

"This one is _Liberty Leading the People_ , painted by Eugène Delacroix in 1830! It's about the French Revolution! It's a magnificent piece of art, it is!"

When they came upon a particular painting, Feliciano spoke with much more vigor than he did with the rest of them. "And this is _Italia und Germania_ by Friedrich Overbeck! It's supposed to represent the friendship between Italy and Germany, who are represented by the two women in the painting! Isn't it funny, Luddy?" he said as he turned to Ludwig.

"I guess so," replied Germany. "But I would rather have the countries portrayed as two men instead of two women."

"I agree. It would be more fitting that way," Kiku chipped in for the first time since they arrived.

The mood seemed to change a little as they stared at the painting. Farley noticed that they seemed to be reminiscing fond memories, although they didn't seem to be older than twenty five. Their expressions (including Ludwig's usual stern grimace and Kiku's normal poker face) softened, and contented silence descended upon them.

Farley didn't know why, but for some reason he felt at peace. He also felt as if he was missing out on something, maybe some kind of joke, but he didn't want to disrupt their serene reverie.

* * *

A few hours later, Farley found himself to be forced to spend the night in a hotel room with the trio. They had gone to the amusement park and practically went on every single ride (Feliciano insisted), and it had gotten late, so Feliciano had begged him with his best puppy face for him to stay the night with them so that they could 'bond'. The room only had three beds, so Feliciano volunteered to share a bed with a disgruntled Ludwig, who agreed only because he would always wake up with Feliciano sleeping next to him anyways.

Just as they settled into their slightly uncomfortable beds, there was a loud banging on the door, which startled all four of them. Who could it be? It was almost one in the morning. Maybe it was something urgent, Farley thought.

Amazingly, the usually cowardly Feliciano sprang out of bed and answered the door as he cried, "Oh no! I completely forgot about _fratello_!"

The door opened to reveal a furious man who looked like Feliciano, except that the curl was on the right side of his head. It was Lovino Vargas. Lovino looked over Feliciano's shoulders and immediately spotted Ludwig.

Farley immediately became worried, as was Ludwig. Although Farley had never actually spoken to Lovino, he knew that Lovino was notorious for his hot headed attitude as well as his vulgarity. He was also known to have a deep dislike of Ludwig for hanging out with his brother so often. In addition, Lovino, like his brother, was quite as clumsy, as he always managed to knock things over wherever he went, much to Farley's dismay.

"FELICIANO! You _idiota_! You said that we would spend the day together since we never spend time with each other, and look at you now! You've gone off with that potato eater! You've stood me up and made a fool out of me!" he screamed, pointing an incriminating finger at Ludwig. His face was red with rage.

" _Fratello_ …please don't be angry with me! It was a mistake! I accidentally forgot about it! It wasn't on purpose, I swear!"

"Oh, so I'm so unimportant to you that you forgot about me, huh?" Lovino backfired. "Never mind, I guess that potato eater is more important to you." With that, he took a last glace around the room. His eyes met Farley's for a moment and Farley thought that Lovino might say something to him, but he was wrong. Lovino just turned around with a huff and left, slamming the door behind him.

" _Fratello_...," murmured Feliciano to himself.

"Feliciano-kun, it'd be best if we let him cool off by himself. It is rather late now, so we'd best go to sleep right now," suggested Kiku. "We can deal with it in the morning."

Nodding silently, Feliciano slipped back into bed. The lights were turned off and they all settled in once again. All was quiet, except for the rustling of sheets every now and then.

Farley took it upon himself to lighten the mood a bit. "Goodnight men."

" _Gute nacht_ ," replied Ludwig.

" _Oyasumi_ ," Kiku said gently.

" _Buona notte_ ," Feliciano whispered.

With that, Farley slowly drifted off into sleep. He thought that he could faintly hear Feliciano sniffling, and couldn't help but worry for Feliciano. He'd rarely been so quiet.

* * *

When Farley awoke, he found that the room was empty. It appeared as if the three had gotten up earlier than he had. Or maybe it was because he was getting too old.

After getting ready, he went to the lobby and was about to leave the hotel when he saw Feliciano and Lovino in a secluded hallway talking. Both brothers seemed to be nearly in tears. Actually, Feliciano was already crying, but Lovino managed to keep the floodgates closed for the time being.

"—it wasn't because of Germany! He has nothing to do with this!" said Feliciano tearfully.

"Yes it is! He's always taking up your time nowadays! It's always _Germany, Germany, Germany_ —all the time!"mocked Lovino. "There's no more room for me anymore!" He turned around to leave, but was stopped when Feliciano grabbed his arm.

"No! Don't leave!" Feliciano choked out between his sobs.

"Let go of my arm!" Lovino commanded, ignoring his brother's cries. Feliciano refused to release his vice grip. Growling angrily, Lovino roughly shook off the obstructing arm and stomped away.

Feliciano remained where he was, a total sobbing mess. Farley felt a pang of sympathy and guilt. It was kind of his fault because he tagged along with the trio, causing Feliciano to forget about his plans with his brother. Farley could not help but feel obligated to comfort Feliciano, as he was sort of the cause of the problem at hand.

He walked over to the weeping man. "Are you okay, Mr. Vargas?"

Feliciano sobbed louder. "L-Lovino is angry at me! I didn't mean to forget! I tried t-to apologize, b-but he just yelled at me!"

Farley patted his shoulder gently. "It's okay. I'll talk to him for you," he reassured. Farley handed Feliciano a handkerchief. "Wipe your tears, son. When I come back, you'd better have stopped crying. I won't take long." With that, Farley walked off, tracing Lovino's footsteps.

It didn't take him long to find where Lovino was. He was in an alleyway close to the hotel, silently crying to himself as he sat against a wall. When Farley got within five feet of him, Lovino's head snapped up and his eyebrows narrowed. "W-what do you want, you jerk! I don't want to see anyone right now!"

"Mr. Vargas, please. I know that you're hurt by your brother's actions, but can't you just give him another chance? He didn't do it to hurt you."

Lovino scoffed. "Another chance? Please. I've always given him chances. But when it comes time for him to choose between me and that potato bastard, he'll always choose the potato bastard. I'm never wanted."

"That's not true. If he never wanted to be with you, then why would he even ask to spend the day with you?" reasoned Farley. "He's not one to just go around hurting people's emotions for the fun of it."

Lovino went silent for a moment. Then he said, "He forgot about me. Left me hanging there, waiting for him for hours."

This time Farley had to pause to think a little. He sat down beside Lovino, who stared expectantly at him. Then Farley admitted, "It was my fault. If I hadn't accepted to get lunch with your brother yesterday after the meeting, he wouldn't have brought Mr. Honda and Ludwig along and forgotten about his appointment with you. I'm sorry."

Lovino gawked at Farley. Farley couldn't interpret his expression as angry, confused, or surprised. Farley felt himself getting a little bit nervous. This could get worse real fast. But rather than bursting out in rage, Lovino simply looked down at his feet. "…I was wrong."

"Hmm?"

"I thought that it was _Ludwig's_ fault that he stood me up. I screamed at my brother and made him cry," murmured Lovino, still looking down at his feet.

"You can apologize to him," Farley suggested.

Lovino shook his head. "I do want to tell him I'm sorry, but what I did is unforgiveable. I shouldn't be forgiven for doing something so stupid and mean. He's my brother, and I treated him like trash."

Farley didn't know what to say to that. Silence draped upon the two like rain. Then Lovino began to weep again. "Dammit! Why did I do that?! I should have listened to him! I'm so stupid!" He slammed his fists against the ground.

Farley reached his hand out to stop him, but before he even laid a hand on him, he was interrupted.

"You're not stupid, fratello."

Both Farley and Lovino jerked their heads up and looked to the entrance to the alley, where the voice had come from. Standing there with a handkerchief in his hand was Feliciano. He walked up to where the two sat.

"F-Feliciano…" Lovino stammered. "I-I'm…" Tears flowed down his cheeks.

" _Fratello_. It's okay," Feliciano reassured. He wrapped his arms around his brother and pulled him close.

"I'M SORRY!" cried out Lovino. "I'm sorry for yelling at you for something you didn't mean to do! I'm sorry for blaming that potato eater! I'm sorry for making you cry!" He bawled loudly as Feliciano wiped his tears with the handkerchief Farley gave him.

"I forgive you, Lovino."

Lovino looked at his brother with teary eyes. "Y-you do?"

"Of course I do! Why wouldn't I forgive you? You're my big brother! No matter what happens, I'll always forgive you, so don't cry anymore, okay? This handkerchief can't soak up any more tears…" But even as he said this, Feliciano also started to cry out of relief and bliss along with his brother.

Lovino nodded and wrapped his arms around his brother in what was probably his first consensual hug with his brother.

Farley looked upon the scene before him as a forgotten bystander. After a few minutes, he started to wonder why they weren't moving. Looking closer, he saw that the two brothers had fallen asleep, exhausted from crying so much. A small smile made its way to his face. No matter how much he tried to deny it, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of happiness and satisfaction at the sight.

And as he stood there, he thought that he heard a voice for a fleeting moment, but that couldn't have been possible. There was no one else in the alley but himself and two sleeping representatives. And yet, he was sure he heard something. Something like—

" _Thank you for helping my grandsons_."

* * *

Author's Notes

Translations:

 _Danke_ = Thanks

 _Fratello_ = Brother

 _Idiota_ = Idiot

 _Gute nacht_ = Good night _  
_

 _Oyasumi_ = Good night _  
_

 _Buona notte_ = Good night _  
_

 _Grazie_ = Thank you

BTW, the voice at the end was Grandpa Rome!

For any suggestions or comments you may have, please leave a review!


	4. Chapter 4 - Elevator From Heck

**World Conference Clean-Up**

 **Chapter Four** \- Elevator From Heck

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia.

 **Warning:** Slightly crack-ish.

* * *

"Get off my foot, you bloody twat!"

"What are you talking about?! Your disgusting shoe is resting on top of _my_ new designer dress shoes!"

"It's cramped as hell in here! Oh god, it almost reminds me of when I lived in Russia's closet!"

Farley's head ached. Men yelled from all around him. If this went on for any longer, he wasn't so sure if he could refrain from assaulting them. Or have an aneurysm. He would be fine with either one.

He would have liked to lean against the wall, but unfortunately he was trapped in the middle of the elevator, sandwiched between Gilbert and what's-his-name.

A hand patted his shoulder softly in comfort. "Don't worry aboot it, we'll be rescued soon. Someone's bound to notice that we're all missing, eh? _Except for me…_ "

Today had been a rather uneventful day. The meeting had been hosted for representatives that had not showed up to the previous day's meeting, which actually got things done for once, seeing as some of the most troublesome representatives were absent. Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, Gilbert, Antonio, and what's-his face were the only ones at the meeting today.

Sadly, seeing as Ludwig was present the other day, the meeting was completely pointless, as the representatives broke out into arguments without someone to bring order. Nothing had gotten done, as Farley had expected. He was actually starting to get used to this, which scared him somewhat.

When the meeting ended, they all packed into the elevator, eager to return to their hotel rooms for some much needed relaxation time. Farley had followed them into the elevator so he could get his cleaning supplies to clean the room.

The elevator wouldn't have been so cramped if one Alfred F. Jones hadn't decided to cram into the elevator at the last minute, leaving no space for anyone to move.

As the elevator descended to the lobby, it suddenly lurched to a stop between the eighth and seventh floor. Antonio, the Spanish representative, tried to push the buttons on the panel, but it was to no avail. Fifteen minutes were spent attempting to mash the buttons as violently as they could to get them to work. It was not a very smart move, because the force ended up damaging the panel. Now they couldn't do anything at all. They were stuck.

"Well, it can't get any worse, can it?" said Antonio as he attempted to shrug. His attempt was failed, as he was jammed in between Francis and Gilbert.

"Hey, stop trying to move! You're pressing me against the wall, and that's not awesome!" Gilbert cried.

No more than ten seconds passed after he said that did the lights flicker out.

Alfred began shrieking. Farley felt himself going deaf sooner than he expected. "SOMETHING TOUCHED ME! SOMETHING TOUCHED ME!"

"It's just me, Al…" a soft voice whispered.

"GAHHH! I CAN HEAR A VOICE! THE GHOST CAN SPEAK!"

"My god, can someone just free us from this torture room?!" wailed Arthur as he was roughly shoved by Alfred, who tried to get away from the 'ghost'. "Alfred! Stop pushing me! There aren't any ghosts here!"

"There _are_ ghosts here! I can feel it! Mattie, help me!" He grabbed on to his brother, terri—Ahem, bravely shielding him from the dangers within the elevator. "Wait…Mattie?! When did you get here?! Did the ghosts bring you here?!"

A few terse seconds passed (unnoticed by Alfred), as Matthew wondered if he should punch or slap his brother in the face for forgetting him for the fifth time today. He ultimately decided to 'accidently' elbow his brother in the gut. Hard.

"Guh!"

"Oh, sorry Al, I _forgot_ you were there," said Matthew sarcastically. Honestly, how do they keep forgetting him? He wasn't that forgettable, was he?! He invented insulin and zippers, for god's sake!

Suddenly, a beam of light shone through the cramped space. Ivan had taken out his phone. "Look everyone, it is a cell phone. It emits light. We can use the light to see. It is wondrous magic, _da_?" he stated sarcastically. Farley swore that he could see an evil aura rising from the corner that Ivan stood in.

Everyone scrambled to pull out their phones, not wanting to be beaten to death in an elevator with nowhere to run. Within minutes, the elevator filled with light.

"Oh, it seems that everyone has been able to harness the power of their grey matter," Ivan said happily.

Arthur kicked Francis's shoe away—it had been resting on top of his well polished dress shoes. "Damn it, you frog! Do something useful for once and call someone with that atrocious phone of yours!" Arthur demanded, shining his light on Francis's bejeweled phone case. The light hit the case, making the colorful jewels sparkle brightly.

"Hey! Don't be jealous of my beautiful phone, _Angleterre_. I would know yours looks _far_ more unfashionable than anyone else's," Francis shot back. He scoffed at Arthur's plain green phone case. "Besides, I can't call anyone. There's no signal in this building."

"Wait, what? Why isn't there any signal here?" asked Farley.

"Because they didn't want people to text each other during the meeting—or update their blog…like _some_ people," Ivan responded. He shot a glare towards Gilbert.

Gilbert cowered, backing up into Antonio a bit. He shot an accusing finger at the violet eyed menace. "Sh-shut it, you unawesome asshat! You don't know the true power of _mein_ blog! Follow me AwesomePrussia1701 to become almost as awesome as me, but not as good!"

Ivan ignored him, as Gilbert regularly advertised on a daily basis. Heck, he even managed to peer pressure Yekaterina, his big sister, into 'following' him one day, by telling her that he'd be 'BFF's' with her if she did. Ivan would have to do something about that later. Perhaps Gilbert would be quieter if his mouth was sewn shut. Ivan opened his mouth to say something about Alfred texting all the time, but he was interrupted before he could say anything.

"Say anything and you won't be getting any more memes from me," threatened Alfred.

Ivan closed his mouth and stayed silent. This he could not put at risk. He needed his daily dose of memes.

"Oi!" Gilbert began waving his phone around, shining the blinding light into everyone's eyes. Arthur swore at the dazzling light shining deep into his retinas. "Hey guys! I know what we should do! Instead of waiting for help like a bunch of losers, we can just escape out the hatchet!" he shouted, directing the beam of light towards the top of the elevator. Sure enough, there was a hatchet they could escape from.

"Well, why didn't I think of that sooner?" pondered Arthur.

"'Cuz you're not awesome!" cackled Gilbert. Arthur gave him the stink eye. "Now let's do this! Gimme a boost, Toni!"

Antonio boosted up Gilbert as high as he could. Gilbert fumbled around with the hatchet for a few minutes. Clinking and clanging sounds were heard as the group waited expectantly in silence. "Uh…guys? It won't open. We're screwed."

He jumped out down from Antonio's hands, unknowingly landing on Matthew's back.

" _Maple…_ "

Francis sighed. "Well, what are we supposed to do now?" He flipped his hair into Arthur's face. "Any longer in this stuffy space and my hair will lose their beautiful luster!"

Arthur brushed the hair away from him, growling. "Oh, put a sock in it, frog! We've got bigger problems than that!"

Francis quirked a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Oh? What kind of problem?"

Arthur rubbed his hands nervously. "Uh…you know the about the kitchen, right? The one that's downstairs?"

" _Oui_."

"This morning, the door was unlocked."

"And?"

"…I made scones?" Arthur mumbled, his eyes looking anywhere but directly in anyone's eyes. He reeled back a little (well, as much as he could).

"YOU DID WHAT?!" screamed Alfred. "WHY, ARTHUR?! WHY?!"

"I just wanted to give some out during break!" Arthur defended. "…You know, if I had any leftovers!" he added hastily.

"Hold on, what?" Farley was confused. What was wrong with making scones? You know, besides the fact that he snuck into the kitchen to cook. Arthur was just trying to be generous, right? "What's wrong with making scones?" Farley questioned.

Francis whipped his head around dramatically. "I'll tell you what's wrong! _Angleterre_ here is actually banned from the kitchen—for life! He's not allowed in there!"

"Banned from the kitchen? What did he do, burn down the kitchen?" joked Farley.

"That is correct, monsieur."

"What? When did this happen?" Farley couldn't remember a time where Arthur burned down the kitchen at all. Perhaps it was a repressed memory of his. After all, he had seen some horrible sights since he took this job that he could not unsee.

Francis waved a hand dismissively. "It was before you came here. Burned down the whole kitchen, and then some. Poor chef had to dispose of the wretched salad himself." He wiped away a stray tear.

Salad? Arthur started a fire that burned down the kitchen with a _salad_? Farley didn't know whether this was fake or real. But then again, this _was_ the World Conference Building, and anything that could happen happened here. But a salad? This was the strangest story he's ever heard, and he worked around the most insane representatives in the world, so that was saying something. He didn't think that someone could be _that_ bad at cooking. He felt a wave of relief that he didn't have to clean up that mess. Close call.

Arthur cleared his throat nervously. "Uh…gentlemen, I'm sorry to say this, but…they're still in the oven."

Eight pairs of terrified eyes bore into him as he continued. "And the oven is still on," he mumbled, barely audible.

The cramped elevator broke out into sheer panic. Representatives screamed, banging on the metal walls around them. Light from various phones danced upon the walls like a disco ball as they fruitlessly tried to escape.

"NOOO! I DON'T WANT TO DIE THIS WAY! I ALREADY ATE THEM ONCE, ISN'T THAT ENOUGH FOR YOU?!" shrieked Prussia, shaking his fists up at the ceiling.

"Shut your gob! They were perfectly fine!" yelled Arthur from his corner.

In an act of pure bravery (and desperation), Antonio grabbed a concealed pipe from a very surprised Ivan's long tan coat. Leaping over Francis's weeping form in the corner, he destroyed the hatch with a single blow in his haste.

Seeing this, Alfred took the chance and began to somehow physically throw the bodies of the elevator's inhabitants out one by one. Farley was the last to be ejected; he was caught carefully by Gilbert who helped lower him onto the top of the elevator. Everyone else before him was not so lucky—they mostly landed face-down or on their butts. Alfred was helped out last with the help of Antonio and Gilbert.

"God America, you're so heavy! You really _are_ a fatass!" grunted Gilbert as he heaved Alfred out with great struggle.

"Shut up! This is all muscle here!" Alfred retorted.

Brushing some dust off of his coat, Ivan asked, "Well, now that we are out of the elevator, how are we going to escape the elevator shaft?" He shot a glare at Antonio. "Also, may I please have my pipe back? If you wanted to borrow it, you could have asked. You didn't have to so rudely rip it out of my coat."

"Oh…yeah, sure. Sorry about that, _amigo_." Antonio nervously extended his hand and returned the metallic object back to its rightful owner.

" _Spasibo_ , comrade," Ivan smiled. Then his aura grew dark. "But please keep in mind that this sort of act will not be tolerated next time, _da_?"

At this, everyone shrunk away from the menacing man. " _D-da_ …" Antonio responded quietly.

Francis broke the ice. Clearing his throat he suggested, "I know of a way we can get out. See that elevator door above us?" He pointed to a door a few feet above them. "We can boost _Amérique_ up there so that he can pry the door open and we can escape."

"And who's going to boost Alfred up?" asked Arthur, crossing his arms. "He weighs as much as an elephant!"

Without skipping a beat, Francis quipped, "You are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are," the whole group chorused.

"It's your fault you baked scones, Arthur. And now you have to pay up," said Antonio evilly. Finally. He'd been waiting to get revenge for the Spanish Armada since forever. Now his chance had finally some, and he wasn't going to pass it up.

Arthur bit his lip. There must be a loophole somewhere! He scanned the group, looking for a scapegoat—but found no one he could blame. Blast it all. This was just not his day. "Fine," he grumbled. "But I'm only doing this so we can escape."

"Great! Thanks Artie!" Alfred scrambled over and was boosted up by a very disgruntled Arthur. With ease, he pried open the metal doors. He jumped down and turned to the others, pumping his fist up in the air, narrowly missing Arthur's face. "Alright! Now that's what we're talkin' about!"

One by one, they were boosted up by Alfred, who volunteered because he claimed that he was 'the hero, of course'. When they were all safely on the non-elevator floor, Gilbert bent down onto his hands and knees and began kissing the carpeted hallway. "Oh my god, I missed this carpet so much!"

"We were only in there for an hour and a half, Gilbert," said Francis.

"It was cramped as hell in there! My awesomeness was trapped in there with no way out!"

"Weren't we going to go to the kitchen to see if it was on fire yet?" asked Farley. Why don't these people ever remember what they're supposed to be doing? They're _supposed_ to be representatives of nations, but they always goof off.

The representatives all froze for a second. Then they all broke into a run that was so fast that it would have made the Usain Bolt envious. Actually, forget that. Farley could've sworn that these people must've been Olympic track runners at some point, because _man_ , were they running. Were Arthur's cooking skills _that_ bad? Farley could barely keep up; either he was getting too old for this (he refused to admit this), or they were just inhumanely fast. He felt it was the latter.

The representatives reached the kitchen first, screeching to a stop and freezing at the sight before them. Farley arrived a bit later than them, wheezing heavily. He made a note to himself to get back into shape.

Fortunately, the kitchen was not on fire, as the representatives foretold, which was a good thing; Farley didn't know if he could handle all the extra hours he's have to put in. Instead of smoke, there was a lovely smell that wafted out of the room. Sitting inside the clean kitchen were Ludwig, Feliciano, and Kiku. Feliciano was currently force feeding pasta to Ludwig, who put up a weak fight. "Come on, Germany! Pasta is good for you!"

"This is the third bowl, Italy…"

"Wha—what are you lot doing here?! And what've you done with my scones?" cried England as he pointed at the table. A basket of freshly baked scones sat in the middle of the table. They were cooked beautifully; not a single one was burnt.

Kiku looked up from the book he was reading. "Oh, greetings to you all," he greeted. "Ludwig-san and Feliciano-kun came here so that Feliciano-kun could cook some pasta. The hotel's kitchen was busy and declined his request to cook there, so we came here. As for your scones—I took them out of the oven so that they wouldn't burn [like they usually do]."

Antonio looked back and forth from Kiku to the perfectly baked scones. " _You_ took them out on time?!"

Kiku frowned a little. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

The group let out a breath of air that they had been holding for quite some time. Relief filled their faces. Even Farley felt relived, though he still did not quite understand what the fuss was all about.

"Oh, oh no! None at all! I'm just very relieved!" Antonio assured.

Francis clutched his hands to his heart. "Thank goodness! I was so afraid that I might've fainted!"

"Da, I was a bit worried that we might have perished in a fire inside of an elevator," admitted Ivan. "But I was also looking forward to see your petrified faces as you are all roasted alive."

Alfred ran up and hugged a squirming Kiku as tightly as he could. "My hero!" Kiku tried to slip away as politely as he could, but there was no escape in the death grip Alfred had on him.

Arthur burned with embarrassment. "What are you all talking about?! My scones aren't even that bad! They're _supposed_ to stay in the oven longer so they can get crispy!"

"Yeah, but they aren't supposed to be blackened!" countered Francis.

"Quiet, Frog! You know nothing!"snapped Arthur. He punched Francis in the gut.

"I'm glad we're not stuck in that hellhole anymore!" injected Gilbert. "Although I kinda wish that Ivan was still in there…"

* * *

Back in the dark elevator, a whispered voice echoed in the darkness.

"Uh…guys? You forgot about me…"

* * *

Author's Notes

I don't really think it's that much of a challenge to translate everything they said yourselves, so you can kind of figure it out yourself. It's pretty obvious what they're saying, anyways.

For any suggestions or comments you may have, please leave a review!


	5. Chapter 5 - Nighttime Duties (Part 1)

**World Conference Clean-Up**

 **Chapter Five** \- Nighttime Duties (Part 1)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

It had started off as a normal day. Well, as normal as it could be, at least. The conference unsurprisingly fell apart when someone brought out a rather large boom box, which in turn somehow forced the Greek and Turkish representatives to break out in dance. The meeting soon became something akin to a rave, complete with a disco ball, DJ, and alcohol. Not before long, the room became enveloped in a smoky haze as the Dutch representative began distributing some rather shady baggies in a corner of the room (for a price, of course).

At some point the representatives crowded around as a few of them broke out into dance. An epic dance battle had begun. Nations cheered as the Italian brothers went up against the North American brothers in a dance so choreographed that even professionals would have been impressed. Others joined in as they infused their own cultural dances into the mix. From the Macarena to the Charleston, everyone joined in to the best (or worst) of their abilities.

Ultimately, the meeting was adjourned as most of the representatives slowly began to disappear, most likely roaming the streets, terrorizing citizens (and scarring them for life). Farley felt a pang of sympathy for those unlucky citizens who came upon one of the representatives.

But right now he was occupied with his own duties. Cleaning up the mess they had left was a hazardous job. Shards of glass from wine bottle littered the carpeted floor. Some unconscious representatives lay on the floor, unconscious and wasted beyond measure. Farley was certain that half of them should have died of alcohol poisoning at this point, but when he voiced his concerns to the Swiss representative, he merely brushed it aside and said, "They'll be fine. All they need is a good rest."

Moving around the bodies, he began to sweep up the shards with his broom. He was about to throw the shards into the trash bag when he felt an arm wrap around his left shoulder.

"Hey, bro? Can you do me a favor?" a slightly slurred voice asked. Farley instantly knew who that familiar voice belonged to.

"Hello, Mr. Jones. What can I help you with?" greeted Farley. He hoped that none of the representatives decided to go drunkenly swim in the fountain again. He didn't think that his eyes could withstand the sight of grown men wearing Speedos while playing Marco Polo in the courtyard fountain for the third time this week.

"I need you to get the guys off the streets," Alfred said. "I can't afford to get in trouble again! My boss said that if the police get called again, then he'll take my Xbox away! I haven't finished playing GTA V yet! Trevor needs a hero's help with his heist!"

"I'm sorry Mr. Jones, I'm busy right now," Farley responded. He dearly hoped that Alfred would take the hint and keep him out of this. His back was getting rather strained recently from bending down to clean their messes—he did not need any other injuries; on himself or anyone else.

Alfred tugged on his sleeve. "Please! I need your help! You can be my sidekick!"

"No."

A harder tug. "With a cherry on top?"

"Nope."

"Humph!" Alfred pouted childishly, turning away. "Fine, be that way. I guess I'll just have to leave everyone out on the streets to fend for themselves."

Farley paused. He became worried. Very worried. Not for the representatives, but for the citizens. He could hardly begin to fathom the horror that might be inflicted on them. The nightmares they'd have to endure. The permanent scarring of their memories—all because he refused to bring the rebels of the streets.

"Fine," he resigned mournfully, "But you have to clean this room in my stead."

Sky blue eyes became beautifully (and impossibly) vibrant. "Ohmygodthanks bro!" He playfully slapped Farley in the back. It would have been better if Alfred had not used his superhuman strength, though. Alcohol and playful roughhousing was not a good combination for Alfred. Or anyone else, for that matter. Farley's back gave out as he crashed to the floor.

"…Sorry."

* * *

Clad in a worn down coat, a very disgruntled man roamed the streets, looking for the familiar faces of the dangerous drunk men. His warm breath was visible as he exhaled slowly. The chill of the cold weather penetrated his skin like darts. He should have brought his gloves.

Standing under a lit streetlight, he scanned the street for anybody he might recognize. But the street was completely deserted. Farley, having wandered around the many blocks surrounding the World Conference Building, was tuckered out. He decided to take a little (well deserved) break.

Sitting down on the sidewalk, he pulled out his cell phone to check his messages. Although he wasn't very technologically savvy, he was still able to use the phone for his basic needs.

There was a few new messages, most of which were from representatives drunkenly texting him. He probably shouldn't have given any of them his number. "Let's see…" he murmured, skimming over his screen with long swipes of his finger.

...

-3 New Messages-

 **Arthur Kirkland**

aRR! where ye at you scurvy dog! let us duel like men! (8:15 P.M.)

 **Matthew Williams** (Who is that and why did he have his number?)

I AM THE BANANA BOAT EMPEROR

BOW DOWN TO ME YOU PEASANTS (8:46 P.M.)

 **Lukas Bondevik**

I FUCKING LOVE BUTTER (9:03 P.M.)

...

Farley sighed as he deleted the spam. Might as well destroy the evidence that would likely humiliate them for the rest of their lives. He pocketed his phone and hunched over, clutching his coat. The thin material didn't hold up against the chill very well. He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to generate some reprise through the cold.

He was just about to fall asleep when he heard something strange. Yelling, perhaps? Cupping a hand to his ear, he listened intently. Sure enough, it was the sound of somebody yelling at the top of their lungs…Actually, that wasn't quite right. It was more like…someone singing. Very, very loudly. And horribly, at that. They were no Elvis Presley, that's for sure.

 _"…_ _I LIKE GERMAN SPARKLE PARTY SPARKLE PARTY SPARKLE PARTY!"_

Farley groaned internally. No…no today. He, no, the world was not ready for this.

The wretched wailing of a banshee continued to get louder and louder. Soon, an approaching figure began to become visible under the streetlamps that lined the streets.

Farley had expected to see Gilbert or something, him being of German descent and all, but instead he was met with the sight of a very intoxicated Ludwig staggering down the street. Farley immediately rushed to his side, propping one of Ludwig's arms around his shoulder for support. "Are you alright, sir?"

He didn't receive a coherent reply, but he did get a few more lines of singing. He sighed. "Come on then, lad."

He helped Ludwig walk to his hotel, which he managed to coerce out of him. When he arrived in the lobby, however, he was greeted by Gilbert. Thankfully, Gilbert was only mildly tipsy. "Oh hey, thanks for bringing _mein kleiner bruder_ back!"

"You were waiting?"

Gilbert nodded. "Oh _ja_. America told me that you were bringing people back to their hotels, and since little Luddy here wandered off on his own, I had to come back early. I didn't even get to have time to set pranks with Francis and Antonio!"

"I'm sorry?" Farley awkwardly apologized. Really, how was he supposed to respond to that? Gilbert continued his little spiel.

"Man, I am such an awesome big brother, am I right? Abstaining from good beer just to see his brother safe—so awesome!"

Farley said nothing, but threw in some 'I see's and 'Uh huh's in every now and then as Gilbert boasted about how awesome he was and how everyone should be worshiping him. He handed over the barely conscious Ludwig to his brother. "Pardon Mr. Beilschmidt," he interrupted, "But I have to get going. You know, to pick up the others."

"Oh, I completely forgot about that! Good luck, and don't forget to bring back that sobbing mess England! He's over at the bar weeping his eyes out like a little baby!" he cackled as he waved at him from the elevator. "Und don't forget—I'M AWESOME!"

Farley stared blankly at the closed elevator doors. Unbelievable. What has the world come to? It seemed all these young people did was drink and party. He had rarely seen them get anything done. And their egos—their egos went through the roof! It was incredible how vain they were. Did they think that just because they had government jobs they could do as they pleased? Youth only lasted for so long.

He exited the hotel and went to the bar, which was directly across the street. As soon as he entered, he spotted Arthur sitting beside Yao in a corner. As he steadily approached, he could hear Arthur's rants over the chatter of the rest of the occupants.

"…A-and you know what?! You know bloody what?! That little twat doesn't even know! …doesn't even know, man!" he wailed. He took a long drink of his glass, draining it all. "I just wanted to be a good brother! And then he leaves me clear in the dust!"

Yao wipes a tear from his eye. "I know how you feel Opium, but I think it's time that you stop drinking," He gently pries Arthur's hand of his glass, which was beginning to crack under his firm grip. "It's also getting late. I doubt that you'd want the others to see you so hungover tomorrow."

"Hello Mr. Wang," Farley greets. He glances over at Arthur. "Is he okay?"

"I hope so," chortles Yao. "He's drunk a lot today. But he was never good at holding his liquor."

They stare at Arthur, who has begun talking to thin air, making gestures as if he were talking to someone. "Flying mint bunny! You'll always be by my side, won't you?!...And you as well, Tinker Bell?!"

Arthur pauses to stare at the air. His emerald eyes shone with hope and expectancy. "...Oh, thank you, you two!" He wrapped his thin arms around the empty space in front of him. "We'll be best friends forever!"

Farley turns to look a Yao worriedly. "He's always like this?"

"Usually when he's drunk, yes," answers Yao. "But he always talks to himself whether he's sober or not."

"I…better take him back to his hotel," Farley said, grabbing onto one of Arthur's arms. Arthur was beginning to climb on the table to shout something, but he and Yao managed to drag him down before he could get his feet up.

"O-Oi! How dare you try to manhandle me! I'll have you know that I'm the bloody British Empire! L-let me go, dammit!" screeched Arthur as Farley pulled him towards the exit.

Yao shook his head dolefully as he watched Farley forcibly drag Arthur out of the bar. "Ai-yah…Now I will have to pay the bill…"

* * *

Author's Notes

This chapter is kind of crack-ish, but oh well. Hope you guys enjoyed!


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